Read The Spellcoats for Free Online

could have taken my loom. The boat was so loaded by then that there was no point even suggesting it.
    As I put the last slice of bread in Gull’s hand, there was an explosion of sizzling steam from the hearth.
    â€œOh good gracious!” Robin shouted. She soaked us all by racing to the hearth. Water was spilling gently across the hearthstones and running in among the embers. Amid cloud upon cloud of steam, Robin snatched up the shovel and scooped up what was still alight. She turned round, coughing, waving one hand and holding up the red-hot shovelful. “The pot, the firepot, quickly! Oh, why do none of you ever help me?”
    That fire has never been out in my lifetime. I could not think how we were to light it again if it did go out. At Robin’s shriek, even Gull made a small bewildered movement. Hern splashed away for the big firepot we use in the boat, and I fetched the small one we take to the field. Duck took a breakfast cup and tried to scoop up more embers in that. He had only rescued half a cupful before the water swilled to the back of the fireplace and made it simply a black, steaming puddle.
    â€œI think we’ve got just enough,” Robin said hopefully, putting the lids on the pots.
    Everything was telling us to leave, I thought as I waded with Hern to the woodshed to put the pots in the boat. The River had swung the outer door open again. It was light out there. Outside was nothing but yellow-brown River, streaming past so full and quiet that it seemed stealthy. There was no bank on the other side. The brown water ran between the tree trunks as strongly as it ran past the woodshed door. It was all so smooth and quiet that I did not realize at first how fast the River was flowing. Then a torn branch came past the door. And was gone. Just like that. I have never been so near thinking the River a god as then.
    â€œI wonder if there’s water all round the house,” said Hern. We put the pots in the boat and waded back to see.
    This was very foolish. It was as if, among all the other things, we had forgotten what Uncle Kestrel had told us. We climbed the slope beside my loom and took the plank off the shutters there. Luckily we only opened the shutter a crack. Outside was a tract of yellow, rushing water as wide as our garden, and not deep. On the farther edge of it, in a grim line, stood most of the men of Shelling. Zwitt was there, leaning on his sword, which looked new and clean because he had not been to the war. The swords of the others were notched and brown, and more frightening for that. I remember noticing, all the same, that behind them the yellow water had almost reached Aunt Zara’s house. Where they were standing was a point of higher ground between the two houses.
    â€œLook!” we called out, and Duck and Robin crowded to the open crack.
    â€œThank the Undying!” said Robin. “The River’s saved our lives!”
    â€œThey’re making up their minds to cross over,” said Duck.
    They were calling to one another up and down the line. Zwitt kept pointing to our house. We did not realize why until Korib, the miller’s son, came past the line with his longbow and knelt to take aim. Korib is a good shot. Hern banged the shutter to just in time. The arrow met it thock a fraction after, and burst it open. Hern banged it shut again and heaved the plank across. “Phew!” he said. “Let’s go.”
    â€œBut they’ll see us. They’ll shoot!” I said. I hardly knew what to do. I nearly wrung my hands like Robin.
    â€œCome along,” Hern said. He and Robin took hold of Gull and guided him to the woodshed.
    â€œJust a minute,” Duck said. He splashed over to the black pool of the hearth and gathered the Undying down out of their niches. It shocks me even now when I think of Duck picking them up by their heads and bundling them into his arms as if they were dolls.
    â€œNo, Duck,” said Robin. “Their